Far From Home
by JackiLeigh
Summary: Neal doesn't deal with living in D.C. very well. 'Judgement Day' spoiler. Alcohol abuse.
1. Chapter 1

FAR FROM HOME

**AN: This is a different kind of story for me. I have never really dealt with this topic before. I don't know anyone how is an alcoholic, surprisingly enough. I do know people who drink, of course, but since I don't, this is unfamiliar territory for me. So, please forgive my inaccuracies. Thanks for reading, Jackie**

**And, as always, Ms. Beta, ccluvshorses101, thanks so much.**

It had been a couple of weeks since Neal Caffrey had left New York, under the care of his new handler, Agent Phillip Kramer of D.C. Art Crimes.

"I don't like this, El." Peter said as he paced his living room floor. "I…I wanted…I thought Kramer would let Neal call me. That Kramer would…. I mean I could understand at first, with adjustment and all, but now…." Peter shook his head.

"He's fine." El reassured him, though she didn't really feel right about the situation either. She was also concerned that there had been no contact.

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It had been two weeks of hell. Neal thought has he closed another file folder. He looked at the mountain of folders on his desk. He had been given busy work, desk work, with Kramer only pulling him away to consult in a limited capacity.

Neal sighed. There was no real relief when he got 'home' either. He had been put up in a tiny hotel across the street, and he had been given a half-mile radius. He was allowed a cell phone with a limited local call area. And he was given a 'pay as you' go debit card, with Kramer approving all purchases.

Kramer had laid down the rules early. Neal was to address him only as Agent Kramer or Sir. Neal was to work only on cases assigned to him. He would only be allowed to do field work after he had 'proven' himself. The exact period of time this 'proving' would take was undetermined. He was allowed no contact with Agent Burke for the first month. This particular stipulation Kramer had not mentioned until after Neal had arrived in D.C.

Neal didn't like it, not at all. But he was quickly learning the more he protested the more restrictions Kramer placed on him. So Neal just nodded and smiled, swallowing his anger and resentment.

Agent Kramer was very happy with his new charge. He had a very talented, intelligent young man at his disposal. And all Kramer had to do was say 'Jump,' and Neal Caffrey would ask 'How high?' Neal's knowledge and expertise was exactly what D.C. Art Crimes nodded. Peter had let Neal run amuck. Agent Kramer would not let that happen. In his mind, Neal was good for only one thing, his criminal expertise. As far as Kramer was concerned, Neal should be so grateful to get out of prison and to have the opportunity to work with the FBI. Neal should not ask for anything else. Kramer felt the cell phone and debit card had been too much. Neal had no one to call and no money to spend.

Neal felt the noose tightening around his neck a little more every day. He had tried to call Peter and El, with no luck. The phone wouldn't allow calls outside the local area, he soon found out. He had tried to call from the lobby of the building where the payphone was located. But the clerk told him the hotel manager didn't allow long-distance calls. Neal had tried using the phone to text, but it didn't have that feature. He asked about using a computer at the desk and sending an email. But he was told Kramer would not allow him access.

The spiral started slowly. Neal would go back to the tiny room that was his apartment. He would sit in his dirty, ugly recliner and drink. He bought only the good stuff at first, but later anything that contained alcohol would do. He would sit and drink, stare at his anklet, miss his friends and family in New York and wonder what became of his life.

Neal then started coming into the office drunk. Well, not exactly drunk, but Kramer could smell the alcohol on his breath. "You're not going to get that field work you wanted so badly this way, Caffrey." Kramer warned.

Neal would nod. He did understand, but that understanding did nothing to stop the behavior. One morning Neal didn't even bother coming in for work. And Kramer found him passed out in his recliner, sitting in front of the TV.

"Neal!" Kramer said as he roughly shook Neal's shoulder.

Neal opened his eyes and looked up. "Oh, Agent Kramer…" He slurred. He looked around the room. Sunlight was pouring into the room. Neal would have, sworn only a few moments ago, it had been pitch black outside. "…time for work."

Neal staggered into the bedroom and returned a few moments later. He had on a stained shirt, buttoned incorrectly. His tie was askew, and his pants were nearly falling off of him. It was only then that Kramer noticed Neal's significant weight loss.

"Caffrey!" Kramer said, appalled by the sight in front of him.

"Ready for work, Sir." Neal announced as he tried to step forward, but nearly tripped over his own feet.

"No, you're not." Kramer said, shaking his head. "No, you're not."

"I can do the job, Sir." Neal slurred, slightly. "I can."

"You need help, Neal." Kramer replied, seeing the extent of Neal's drinking as he looked around the apartment and counted the number of empty beer bottles. "You really do." He added.

"If you really, truly wanted to help me…" Neal stated bitterly. "…you would have left me in New York."

Agent Phillip Kramer looked at the young man in front of him. He had not seen it at first. But he had broken Neal's spirit. He, at the time, deemed it necessary for Neal to break all his New York ties. Kramer thought that that would make the transition to D.C. less painful. But all Kramer had accomplished was to drive Neal over brink. He had caused this. Kramer did the only thing he knew to do. He placed a call to a certain agent in New York City.

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"So…you're done?" Peter asked Neal as soon as he entered Neal's apartment.

Neal nodded. He threw his chip down on the table.

"Twelve steps, huh?" Peter picked up the chip and examined it.

"What…what's going to happen? I…the whole drinking thing...I didn't mean…."

Peter nodded. "…not your fault…entirely."

"I chose to drink to escape, Peter." Neal said. "Nobody poured it down my throat."

"Kramer had that leash pretty tight around your neck." Peter sat down at Neal's kitchen table. "And I told Hughes you were going to AA. That you have meetings several times a week. He knows…he knows you, Neal. He knows the extenuating circumstances. Reese even said he would contemplate something drastic after he heard what Kramer had done to you."

Neal shook his head. "How did….?"

"Kramer felt so bad he met and talked with Reese after he returned you to New York. After he called me the morning he found you in your apartment." Peter explained.

Neal shook his head again. "I don't, I didn't used to drink like that, Peter."

Peter nodded. "I know. And you won't again. We'll see to it. You're home now. You've got your friends here, people who care."

Contuned- (I just thought that there was more to tell.)

**End Note: I am not entirely sure that Neal would be classified as an alcoholic. But I do think that he and Peter would be proactive in dealing with any problems Neal ****might**** have. **


	2. Chapter 2

FAR FROM HOME

Chapter 2

**AN: I decided to write another chapter to kind of follow up on Neal. I don't paint Peter's co-workers in a good light here, read at your own risk. **

Neal had been in D.C. a total of two months. He had started his heavy drinking about a month after he had gotten to D.C. He had always been a social drinker, to cross that boundary had scared him. He knew he didn't need to drink anymore. The situation that had caused him to cross that line no longer existed. But he also knew he could. Any situation that caused him stress…where would he turn? Where would he go to for relief? He hoped it would not be to stare at the bottom of a bottle.

Neal had given his supply of wine to Mozzie. June had even cleared out her cabinet. She didn't drink much at home anyway. She would take an occasional glass with diner. She mostly drank when she went out to restaurants. El had not rid the Burke household of alcohol. But she was very careful not to drink when Neal was around.

"You can drink in front of me, El." Neal said as they all sat down to eat. Neal immediately noticed the absence of her favorite wine. "The sight of alcohol is not going to send me into a tailspin or anything."

"I just…." El started.

Neal smiled and nodded. "I know, and I appreciate it. But…" Neal pointed towards the street. "…the world out there doesn't know that I had a slip up. They don't know that I have a problem. They don't know to 'hide' the alcohol from me." Neal gave El a sympathetic look. "That's the real world."

El smiled at him and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "I just wanted to protect you. I didn't…." El shook her head.

"You're been my friend, El, you and Peter." Neal glanced at Peter. "That's all I wanted from you. That's what I needed." He replied squeezing her hand.

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Neal had been nervous about returning to work. And he knew why, despite being a criminal, he had not really shown any weakness in front of the agents in the White Collar Division. Now he had vulnerability, he had a weakness. He knew, as nice as they seemed on the outside, Peter had some vultures working for him. And when Neal walked in, he could not help but feel like the wounded animal. He just wondered how long it would take before they began to circle overhead.

As it turns out, it didn't take long. Neal opened one of his desk drawers a few hours later. He couldn't believe it and just stared at the tiny bottle before he picked it up. He quickly slipped the bottle into his pocket, knowing the office's policy on alcohol. He then returned to his job. But over the next few days he found additional bottles. He found them in the file area. He found them in the conference room. He found them in the men's room.

Peter and Neal got onto the elevator. Peter accidently blushed up against Neal. He looked at his partner, but didn't' say anything. He had heard what sounded like glass bottles clanking. But the elevator was full of people at the time, and Peter decided it would be better to address the issue in private.

Peter waited until he and Neal got into his car. Peter started the engine before he spoke to Neal. "Is there anything you need to tell me?" Peter asked, referring to when he bumped into Neal in the elevator.

Neal reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out three airline-sized bottles of booze. They had not been opened, the seals were not broken. "It seems someone in White Collar has a very sadistic sense of humor." Neal said, showing Peter the bottles.

"How? When?" Peter asked, not really knowing which question to ask, just feeling his anger grow.

"I found the first one in my desk drawer the day I came back to work." Neal stated. "The rest I have been finding…around the office."

"Around the…what?!" Peter asked, shaking his head, he couldn't believe his co-workers. "You were finding these around the office?" He couldn't believe his ears.

Neal nodded. "All week." He admitted, unsure exactly who Peter was angry with. "I wasn't going to drink them, Peter. I…I just…." Neal shook his head. "…the office policy on alcohol. I just figured everybody would think they were mine anyway."

Peter took the bottles from Neal's hands. They drove to Neal's house in silence. Neal could practically feel the anger radiating off Peter. He got out of the car without saying goodbye to Peter and went into June's.

Peter couldn't believe any of his co-workers would do this. But he was also positive Neal was not drinking, and that he hadn't been since he returned from D.C. So, that left just one explanation. Like Neal said, 'somebody in White Collar had a very sadistic sense of humor.' Peter gripped the wheel tighter in an attempt to control his anger.

Neal studied his hands, lying in his lap. It had been this way for a couple of days. Drives to the office in silence. Ever since the day Neal had showed him the bottles. He could feel Peter's disappointment.

"I didn't drink any of it, Peter." Neal said as he studied Peter's expression. "I swear. I didn't drink any. I just…all the bottles I found you have. I didn't just down a few and give the rest to you."

Peter looked at Neal. He knew Neal had not drunk any, he was positive of that. But Peter had not told him so. In fact, Peter realized, he had not said much to Neal, at all, since Neal had given him the bottles of booze. He was letting Neal wallow in guilt over nothing. Neal had done nothing wrong.

"I'm sorry, Neal. This is…. We'll talk when we get to the house." Peter replied.

Neal nodded, still unsure what Peter had planned. Peter's words brought him little comfort.

Neal steeled himself as Peter parked the car, and killed the engine. Peter made no immediate motion to open the door. And Neal, for once, was glad they would have their 'talk' in private. But, then again, there would be no witnesses; maybe that was not such a good thing.

Neal shook his head. He started to speak.

"No, Neal…." Peter said shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I am sorry for all of this. It…you did nothing wrong. I just…I can't believe my co-workers. I can't believe that they would act that way. I've been trying to find out who was responsible. I don't get how anybody could be so cruel." Peter replied.

Neal couldn't hide his surprise.

"I know you didn't drink, Neal." Peter replied. "I know how careful you're being. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about this. It just…I was blindsided when you showed me the bottles. I was blindsided and pissed. And even though you didn't do anything, you caught the brunt of it." Peter apologized again. "I am so sorry for that."

"So, do you know…?" Neal asked feeling relieved.

Peter shook his head. "Not yet, they weren't stupid enough to leave prints on the bottles, and nobody's talking."

Neal, feeling better about the whole situation, got out of the car. Smells of dinner greeted them as they walked into the Burke residence.

"I've got something else to show you. But it can wait. " Neal replied as they went up the stairs. He didn't want to spoil their evening together before he absolutely had to.

Peter nodded, not really knowing what Neal was talking about.

After dinner they all went into the living room for coffee, Neal pulled a small bag out of his pocket and handed it to Peter. It contained 8 more airline-sized bottles of booze.

Peter opened the bag. He didn't look at Neal. He stood up, balled the bag up in his hand and walked out the door. He threw the bag, as hard as he could to the sidewalk, busting all the bottles inside. He then, calmly picked the bag up.

Neal and El watched Peter from the living room windows. They saw him pick up the bag start back up the stairs.

"What are you going to do with that?" El asked as Peter entered the house and proceeded to the kitchen. He got a zip lock bag out of their kitchen drawer. He put the bag Neal had given him down inside and sealed it.

Peter breathed out a breath, trying to control his anger. "I am going to let my co-workers know that I thought of their little…joke."

"That was what you wanted to show me?" Peter asked, still trying to calm himself.

Neal nodded.

"How long?" Peter asked.

Neal just looked at him.

"How long have you had those?" Peter asked, his anger rising.

"I'd been collecting them all week." Neal replied. "After you…after your initial reaction, I didn't know what to do. I just kept them. I knew you would have to see them…eventually."

Peter nodded. He knew what he had to do.

The next morning Peter Burke walked into the White Collar Division and made an announcement.

"Can I have everybody's attention, please?" Peter said loud enough for everybody to hear. "Can I have your attention?" Peter repeated. Peter gave everyone a chance to gather. "I didn't realize we had a jokester in our midst." Peter produced the first three bottles of booze Neal had given him. He then held them up for everybody to see. These bottles were still intact. "Only your jokes aren't funny. I fail to see what is funny about leaving these around the office." Peter replied. "I know a lot of you don't like Neal. And a lot of you feel the only place he deserves to be is in jail. I get that. So does he. But to treat a fellow human being as cruelly as you have…it's unconscionable." Peter took one of the bottles and threw it against the wall. It exploded he threw it so hard. Alcohol sprayed all over the wall and the floor where it had hit. The other two bottles quickly followed, making the puddle of shattered glass and booze bigger. "That is what I think of your joke! Neal had better not find another bottle anywhere in this office. And when I find out which one of you left them, there will be hell to pay!" Peter hissed. "I can promise you that."

The response was shock. No one could ever remember seeing Peter that angry. But Peter could not erase the image in his mind of a friend, so lonely and broken, that he had turned to a bottle for help. It made Peter's heart ache. And it fueled his anger and resentment. He stormed past his co-workers and into his office.

**Would you be interested in reading more? Let me know what you think. Jackie**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Sorry guys, I don't know what happened here. Instead of just posting this chapter I reposted the whole story. I just happened to look at the chapter yesterday and realized my mistake. I was just thinking you guys didn't like how I ended this story. If you dont' like it, let me know. I could be talked into an epilogue. Jackie**

Peter's display had made Neal extremely uncomfortable. He didn't like the vulnerability he was feeling. He knew everyone in the office knew about his bout with alcohol in D.C. But to see it played out before his eyes, it became too…real. And in front of everyone, the whole office, he felt ashamed and small. He knew he had just lost whatever tiny amount of respect he had managed to garner in the White Collar Division. He managed to slip out of the office during Peter's 'demonstration'. He went to the cafeteria, thankful that the kitchen was closed, and got some of the bad coffee they served from the vending machine. He then sat down at one of the many empty tables.

"Where is he?" Peter asked to himself as he turned to survey his co-workers after returning to his office. It had taken him a few minutes to come down, and then a few more moments to realize that Neal was not in the office.

Peter picked up his phone and dialed. "Diana, have you seen Neal?" He asked as soon as Diana answered.

Diana looked around the room. The whole place was still subdued, still reeling from what Peter had done only moments earlier. Everyone seemed to be moving in slow motion.

"No, Peter." Diana got up from her desk. She checked the break room and a few other places. She didn't see him. "He's not…he's not here, Boss."

Diana returned to her desk to see Peter coming down the stairs, putting on his jacket.

"I need…." Peter started.

Diana shook her head. "I'll find him. I'll talk to him, Peter."

Peter stopped. "What? Why…?" He was shocked by her request.

"Neal…he needs somebody to just listen to his problems, right now. You'll try to solve them." Diana paused, seeing her bosses' expression. "And that's great, don't get me wrong. But he just needs somebody to talk to, to listen to him."

Peter nodded. He understood her statement. She was right. He went back upstairs and waited, impatiently, for Diana to talk to his C.I.

"Hey." Diana said as she walked into the cafeteria on the 4th floor. She had gone several other places, including the other two cafeterias in the building. She had not realized the building was so big, until she had taken on the task of finding Caffrey.

"Hey, Diana." Neal said not looking up. He was busy fingering the rim of his coffee cup. "…Peter send you? Actually, I was expecting him."

Diana nodded as she sat. "I know. I talked him out of it. He's a great guy. He's a great 'fixer,' not so much on the 'listener' part."

Neal nodded his agreement, still not looking up.

Diana and Neal sat in silence for just a few moments.

Diana then, very uncharacteristically, took Neal's hand.

Neal raised his head and looked at her.

"You didn't do anything wrong. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I don't think any less of you, neither does Peter or Jones. Hughes understands, too, believe it or not." Diana stated.

Neal looked at her, completely shocked. How had she read his mind?

"You would be the only ones who don't think any less." Neal bemoaned. He shook his head. "I've always considered myself to be a strong person, Diana. I just…."

"Kramer uprooted your life. He took you away…."

"…from a place. He took him away from a city…New York City. And I went to pieces. How strong can I be?" Neal asked, shaking his head.

"New York is more than a city to you, it's home. You have friends, people who care." Diana explained.

"I've gone through my whole life not needing, not having, those things. Why…why now…?" Neal asked.

Diana smiled and looked at him. "For a smart man, you are really pretty clueless, Neal."

Neal just looked at her.

"Kate, Mozzie, your dad, Ellen…have they ever really left your thoughts? How long have you and Mozzie been friends? Even now, I know you think about Kate. You haven't stopped thinking about your dad. Ellen is, I'm still not sure exactly what she is to you." She paused. "And you hadn't seen her in how many years?"

Neal had to agree. He nodded.

"You need the interaction. You crave it, just like the rest of us. That makes you human, Neal…" Diana said. "…not weak, not vulnerable, not stupid…human."

Neal remained silent, unsure what to say.

"It's just our misfortune to work with at least one insensitive jackass." Diana replied. That got a smile from Neal.

"What has Peter got planned?" Neal asked as he and Diana got up from the table and exited the room.

"I don't know, but I think a few hours alone with Mozzie, spouting his alien abduction, Elvis clone theories would be punishment enough. What about you?" Diana asked.

"…works for me." Neal replied.

THE END

**END NOTES: In my AU Ellen has not died yet. I know I didn't really give a true 'punishment' for the crime. Which I am sure if it had happened in a real-world setting it would have had some sort of repercussion. But I really wanted to end on a light note. If you don't like what I came up with, please feel free to insert your own brand of punishment.**


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